


Sword-Summoned

by FireEye



Category: Final Fantasy I
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 04:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17052821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/pseuds/FireEye
Summary: Garland would never have become anything more, had it not been for the magic that summoned heroes.





	Sword-Summoned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ysavvryl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysavvryl/gifts).



It had been forged by the greatest of dwarven blacksmiths, and enchanted with the most potent of elven runes.  But only the Queen’s Champion could wield the sword.

With the death of the Champion, it had been laid to rest in the chapel, awaiting the hand destined for it and spurning the advances of knights and knaves alike.

It drew her eye, every time she walked into the building for a service or simply to pray.  But she was a farmhand – what need had she for swords and courtly things?  In her lifetime, the Queen’s Champion had been a highborn warrior of renown, and Garland knew no combat more harrowing than fending off crows and the occasional bear.

And yet, in her dreams, she wielded the sword.  In some dreams the runes shone with the brightest of Light, bringing prosperity; others, they cast forth a Darkness that enveloped the world itself and could not be banished.  They were whimsical, she told herself.  The fancy of a girl still young, not yet grown of age.

One night, it called to her as in a dream.  Her wandering feet simply took her along the familiar path from home.

The chapel was quiet.  She was alone, save for a young man who knelt praying at the altar, his back towards her.  She approached the sword’s resting place.  It had been laid upon a silken pillow in a glass case, amid rose petals that were now wilted and dry.

As she lifted the case, nothing else mattered.  Certainly not the man who had turned his head at the creaking of the hinge, and watched in awe as Garland lifted the sword from its pillow.

It fit her calloused palm perfectly.  Energy coursed up her arm, into her heart.  She felt the thrill and sorrow of war and the diligence and dominion of peace, mingling together.  Meaning and purpose, beyond what she had ever thought possible.

Then she froze, seeing her wonder reflected in the face of the man she’d barely noticed until he came to stand before her.  She recognized him then.  The captain of the King’s guard... On warm spring evenings and lazy summer days he came to Market on behalf of the Queen.

They had never spoken, of course.  It would have been impropriety.

Garland wanted to drop the sword.  To run, to hide.  To never be seen again.  But it fit her hand like it belonged, and she clutched it to her chest.

She was no thief.

And yet, now that she had it, she had no wish to part with it...

Rather than reprimand her for her transgression – or worse – the captain of the guard bowed low.

“His Majesty has been waiting for you.”

“Are... you sure?” Garland asked.

The man only smiled.  “The blade is.”

He offered her his hand... and a life beyond what she was born to ever know.  Feeling the thrum of the sword’s hilt in her palm, Garland smiled, and took his hand in hers.

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow, I never thought of Garland as a woman. The only question is, why the hell not? ;)


End file.
